Going Home
by poestheblackcat
Summary: Lindsey and Eliot go home. Two one-shots, both featuring Aimee Martin. "McDonald Boys" verse. Lindsey: takes place between Seasons 1 and 2 of Angel, Eliot: takes place during "The Two-Horse Job" on Leverage.
1. Lindsey

Summary: Lindsey and Eliot go home. Two one-shots, both featuring Aimee Martin. "McDonald Boys" verse. Lindsey: takes place between Seasons 1 and 2 of _Angel_, Eliot: takes place during "The Two-Horse Job" on _Leverage_.

This first one takes place between Seasons 1 and 2 of _Angel_, and right after the first chapter of my story "Three Times Eliot Showed Up At Lindsey's Place" (the one where Eliot sees Lindsey's missing hand for the first time).

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**Going Home **

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**Chapter 1: Lindsey**

Lindsey steps out of his rental and shades his eyes. A warm breeze ruffles his hair and picks up the dirt around his feet, covering his shiny custom-made leather shoes in a fine layer of dust.

_Home sweet home._

He reaches inside the car, grabs his suit jacket from the passenger seat, and shakes it out.

As he's doing so, a young woman comes out of the house that's about a stone's throw from the smaller one he's parked next to. She shades her eyes against the brilliant September sun.

"Lindsey?" she calls, waving. "That you?"

"Who else would it be?" he shouts back.

It's a joke that's only sort of funny when identical twins are involved ("sort of" because Aimee's the only person in the world who can tell them apart sometimes). Only, it's not even that funny today, what with the...thing that's happening tomorrow at noon.

"Hey, you," Aimee Martin says, jogging closer so they won't have to yell.

She hugs him, tight, and he hugs her back even harder. God, he'd missed home, the comfortable warmth of the place and the people. L.A.'s practically in the middle of the desert, but it's also a desert in the sense that there's not one drop of human kindness left there.

"Mr. Big Time Lawyer come ta grace us country bumpkins with his awesome presence?" she teases, pulling back.

Lindsey gives her a small smile. "Aw, come on, Aims. You know you put all those plastic Hollywood cutouts to shame. This here's all natural," he says, tugging on a strand of honey-gold hair that had gotten loose from her ponytail.

Aimee laughs and shakes her head. "You are shameless."

She seats herself on the hood of his rented Beemer, apparently not caring that the black metal has to be scorching from his drive here. He shrugs and hops up beside her. He's right, it is hot, but the burning heat is strangely reassuring, in a way.

Aimee bites her lip. "Is he comin'? Or is he _workin',_ like always?" She fiddles with the gold band on her left ring finger.

"He" can only mean one person - Eliot. Aimee and Eliot were, _are_...complicated.

"If he doesn't turn up, I'm gon' kick his ass," Lindsey says, purposely letting the southern drawl creep back into his voice.

Aimee laughs. "I'd pay to see that."

He makes a face. "Fine. I'll sue him for emotional distress and damage. How 'bout that?"

That gets him a giggle. Aimee bumps his shoulder with hers, then suddenly stills and gasps, all her playfulness gone.

Lindsey follows her gaze to his right wrist. He'd had his jacket folded over the arm before, not consciously hiding the missing hand, but not advertizing it either. The folded material had slipped down into his lap during their conversation, leaving his amputated appendage in plain sight, bare, ugly, and still reddened from the trauma. He'd left the prosthetic off while driving to the house from the airport, since the chafing irritates his still-sensitive skin and there had been no one around to see the deformity.

Too late, he tugs the jacket over his wrist, like a small child hiding a broken dish behind his back.

"What _happened?"_

He sighs. That question. _Again_. It's part of the reason why he hadn't wanted to come back home. But really, he had to. It's a funeral, but not just any funeral. It's Uncle Randy's, their mother's uncle, the man who had helped raise him and Eliot. The old man's lifelong vices of alcohol and tobacco had finally culminated in a long fight with lung and liver cancer. Lindsey had _had_ to come, out of respect and familial responsibility. And, well, to read and execute his will.

"What happened, Lindsey?" Amy's still staring, horrified at the sight now hidden under his custom-tailored jacket.

He shrugs. Keep it cool. Keep it unemotional. Keep it professional. _(Oh gods, how he _hates _that bloodsucking hypocritical sonofabitch!) _"Work-related accident," he says shortly, "No big deal."

Aimee makes a disbelieving sound. "'No big deal'?! Lindsey, why didn't you call us? Does Eliot know? How in the _hell_ did it happen? You're a lawyer! Not a- a construction worker or a factory worker or somethin'."

"Just happened. Accident." He shrugs again. "Eliot knows. Threw a hissy fit like you wouldn't believe. You'da thought it was him who had his hand cut off," he says, trying to change the subject.

"Oh, I'll bet he did," she says, not to be deterred, "especially if you didn't _tell_ him an' he had ta see for himself."

Lindsey winces inwardly. Aimee Martin sure can throw 'em like the best of 'em.

"I told ya, it's not a big deal. I can still function like a normal person. Here," he says, getting up off of the car and opening the door. He fishes for the prosthetic and puts it on. "There. That better?"

Aimee grimaces. "No, actually. It freaks me out." At the hurt look that Lindsey tries to hide but probably doesn't quite manage, she adds, "I meant, it's better without the _thing,"_ she says, not knowing what to call the flesh-colored monstrosity strapped onto the end of his arm.

Lindsey takes the prosthetic off, all the while watching her face for signs of disgust, or worse, pity. Knowing this, knowing _him_, she takes care that neither expression appears for even a moment. When it's off, she takes the stump gently in her hands and runs her fingers lightly over the freshly-healed mangled flesh.

"Oh, Lindsey," she sighs _(out of grief, not pity),_ "You shoulda told us."

He pulls his arm out of her hands. "What would you have done? It happened, I dealt with it, it's done. Besides, I didn't wanna worry Uncle Randy with it, what with his health an' all."

Aimee huffs and shakes her head. "You an' Eliot are just the same, you know. Hiding your emotions an' troubles away from the people who care the most about you. Randy asked for you before he went, ya know? You an' Eliot. Took us a while to figure out what he was tryin' ta say, he was coughing an' gaspin' so hard, but he got it out somehow. Then he just...died before we could call the two of ya ta tell ya ta- "

She breaks off to regain her composure - Randy Spencer had been like an uncle to her, too.

"Tell ya ta git your goddamn stupid asses back here," she finishes, wiping away her tears.

Lindsey remains silent, eyes glued to his empty wrist.

"He wanted to see you. Wouldn'ta mattered if you'da turned up with- with three legs or your head missin'," Aimee continues, not realizing the irony of her exaggeration, "He just wanted to see you guys before he died. I know you cared, he knew, we all knew you loved him, but shellin' out the money for his treatment ain't enough, even if they were the best doctors an' nurses in the world. Both of you. He just wanted you home."

Lindsey hangs his head. He knows this, knows that he really should have taken the time off from work to see the old man before he'd died, but...He'd had his reasons.

"I kept telling myself that I'd come home someday," he says quietly, "That I would do it when I could look myself in the mirror and liked who I saw."

"What are you talking about? Lindsey?"

He swallows. "Your dad told me somethin' once. Me an' Eliot, actually. That the way we live our lives affects other people. 'Us,' he said. I guess he was telling us to do him and your mama and Uncle Randy proud, but," he pauses, "I haven't, and I just couldn't face the disappointment, I guess. I'm a coward. I only came today because I have to take care of Randy's will."

"Lindsey, seriously, what are you talkin' about?" Aimee exclaims, "You made it. You're a lawyer, an' not at one of those small firms, either. You win cases, an' make the papers, an' everything. Why the hell would Randy have been disappointed in you? He was proud as punch whenever we read about one of your cases."

"You read about me?" Lindsey asks in a small voice. "Then you know."

"Know what?" Aimee asks, confused. "That you're good at your job? I know you see a lot of crap but that doesn't reflect on you."

"What you read in the papers, it's all a lie," he says darkly, "We feed them the details to make the client seem less at fault to the public, but they're guilty, they all are. Every last one of 'em."

"Surely not _all_ of 'em."

Lindsey shakes his head. "All of them. I know. I'm their lawyer. They tell me how, why, the dates, everything. Then they expect me to make it all go away. And I do it. That's my job," he spits out in self-disgust, "I get them all back on the street so they can kill again. That's what I do. That's what I _chose_ to do."

Aimee frowns. "Well, if you don't like what you're doing, then why not just quit? Choose somethin' else."

Lindsey stares at her, then bursts out laughing. He laughs so hard that he has to bend over and clutch at his stomach to keep himself from falling apart. _"Quit?"_ he says when he can speak, leaning against the car, "It's not that easy. No one _quits_ Wolfram and Hart, Aimee. They wouldn't get away with it." _Not alive, anyway. Not for long._

He's laughing, but there's a shooting pain going up and down his spine because his shoulders have been so damn tense for so long, and his one palm is sweaty, something that rarely happens to him. Another thing that he just _doesn't _do - spill company secrets. To _anyone_, and certainly not to someone from back home (besides Eliot, of course. Eliot's always the one exception to everything).

Aimee looks concerned at his manic explosion. "Lindsey, are you okay?"

She means it in more than one way, anybody can see that, but he decides to skip the deeper question and goes for a face-swipe and a shaky "Yeah, sorry about that. Just took me by surprise."

"Lindsey."

Lindsey's sure that Eliot has an oedipal complex. Because his name coming from his brother's ex-girlfriend's mouth sounds exactly like it did when Lindsey did something wrong and their mama was about to call him out on it.

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. "I've had a lot of shit goin' on back in L.A." He lifts his right arm. "This, obviously, and some other stuff. Been pretty stressed. But I'm fine."

Aimee just looks at him. "Sure. You're fine."

He smiles at her, his "trust me" lawyer smile. "Just fine."

She scoffs. "I think you need to talk to someone. Isn't there anyone you're close to out there? Girlfriend, someone?"

"They got me so busy I don't have much time for anything serious," he says, but his mind inexplicably goes to the fragile blonde ex-vampire entrusted to his care back in L.A. He shakes his head, "I'm a guy. Guys don't talk."

Aimee rolls her eyes. "So you just repress everything until you explode? Real healthy."

Lindsey chuckles. "It's what guys do. Deal with it. I mean, come on, your husband doesn't tell you all about his emotions, now, does he? He's a guy. We talk football instead of feelings. It's how we are."

He doesn't feel bad about turning the topic of their conversation to Aimee and away from himself until her expression turns sad, or mad, or in-between, he can't quite tell.

"He doesn't tell me anything, not now, anyway" Aimee sighs, "I think maybe we're done."

"What do you mean, 'done'?" he asks her, concerned. "Like _separating_ 'done'?"

She shrugs and picks at a hole in her jeans. "Is there any other kind?" She looks up. "Don't tell Eliot, okay? It's not...you know..."

He smiles softly. "It's okay. I've been doing this since we were kids. Mediation, counseling, secret-keeping, the works. We'll call it attorney-client confidentiality."

They share a quiet laugh.

"I'm sorry," Lindsey says gently, "You deserve to be happy."

Aimee smiles sadly and puts a hand on his arm. "Lindsey? You're a good guy. You know that, right?" she says quietly. "Don't let that change."

He nods, but thinks instead, _"Too late for that. I'm too far gone, in too deep. Too late to go back."_

He pushes off of the car and gestures towards the house. "C'mon. It's getting too hot out here. M' bosses'll think I went to the beach instead of a funeral, the tan I'm gettin'." He helps Aimee down from the car's hood with his left hand.

"You need a tan," she laughs, "Workin' in an office all day can't be healthy for you."

"Aw, shut up. I go to the gym once in a while."

"Yeah. Whatever ya say, Lindsey."

"You know, I could really use a cold one right now," he says, obviously changing the subject from a losing argument.

"Better come over to our house, then," Aimee invites with a knowing look, "We got beer in the fridge. Oughta be a world better than those god-awful health shakes over at Randy's." The old man had pitched a fit when the doctors had banned alcohol, tobacco, _and_ greasy foods after his diagnosis.

"Sounds good," Lindsey replies, relieved that the conversation has turned back to normal, everyday things.

Aimee leads the way. "Daddy's out in the stables, should be back in soon. We weren't expecting you this early. Thought you'd be in tonight, or tomorrow mornin'. You know when your brother's comin'? If he is."

He shrugs. "Knowin' him, just in the knick of time."

Aimee laughs. "So tomorrow at noon then?"

"Prob'ly," he chuckles and takes another long look at the house where Randall Spencer had died. "He'll be here," he sighs. "He wouldn't miss it. It's not in him."

Family. Even with everything that Eliot's done, everything that Lindsey's done, what they've _both_ done, family still means something to them. And now, they're the only ones left standing.

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References:

Randy Spencer - Eliot said that he had an uncle named Randy. I just ran with it. I mentioned him in "The Sky's Gonna Open," and he was a supporting character in "Battle Fatigue."

"...when I could look myself in the mirror and liked who I saw" - paraphrasing of a line from the _Leverage_ episode "The Carnival Job."


	2. Eliot

Summary: During "The Two-Horse Job," Eliot tells Aimee about his brother's "death."

This is a reference to Lindsey *spoilers* getting shot and presumably dying in the _Angel_ finale. In my verse, it was faked. _Obviously..._

And while we're on the subject, this is a reminder that this verse is an AU from about mid-Season 4-ish (I still haven't decided when *ahem*) of _Leverage_, okay? So we're still in Boston, not that this fic has anything to do with that. This is just a reminder, so you don't go, "This author obviously hasn't seen the show. I mean, they covered so-and-so in [cites episode] in Season 5." No. AU, okay?

Warning: Umm, Eliot and Aimee just had sex and they're naked. But other than that, no smut. Feel free to visualize the situation, though, hee!

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**Going Home **

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**Chapter 2: Eliot**

Aimee leans back against the stable wall. The pine boards feel rough against her bare back. She hasn't had sex like _that_ for a very long time. Say...eight years?

She laughs breathily. "This, this we were good at. It's all the other stuff...not so much."

Eliot chuckles and puts his arm around her, drawing her close and kissing the top of her head, just like he used to. She missed that. She'd missed him. "Yeah, the other stuff. Never have been too good at that."

Aimee sighs and snuggles closer to his comfortable warmth. "Me neither."

"So it's not just me?" Eliot says, looking down at her in feigned surprise, blue eyes twinkling. "I thought you said that I was a- How didja put it? 'An emotionally-stunted- "

She whacks his chest lightly with her hand. "Stop!" she laughs, "Just stop. I was mad. You were mad. We both said things that we shouldn't have said, and without Lindsey pulling us apart an' puttin' us in our corners, we y'know," she shrugs, "We just kept fightin'."

Eliot snorts. "Lindsey the referee. Always knew he was cut out to be a lawyer, even when we were kids."

She sits up and starts pulling bits of straw out of her hair. The downside of making out in a stable is that it's well, a stable. With straw and horse droppings and all sorts of other unsavory, unromantic elements. At least this stall didn't actually have a horse inside of it.

"You talk to him recently?" she asks, "What's he up to now? We haven't heard from him in a good long time."

Eliot's silent. Should he, or shouldn't he? Would she catch him in the lie, or believe him? Either way, it would hurt her.

"Eliot?"

He makes up his mind. "Lindsey's dead." He doesn't meet Aimee's eyes. It's a tell, looking women in the eye when you lie to them.

She stops looking for her panties. "He- _What?!"_

Eliot dives in and goes for the prize. "Got shot three years ago."

Aimee covers her mouth. Fat tears well up in her eyes and spill over down her cheeks. "Oh my god. Oh my- I- I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Eliot."

He shrugs and keeps his eyes cast downward. "It's okay. I've dealt with it."

"It is _not_ okay!" Aimee exclaims, going straight to anger. She blinks the tears out of her eyes and wipes them off of her cheeks. "He's really dead?"

"Yeah."

"God." She shakes her head and draws an unsteady breath. "I've said it once and I'll say it again, you two are just so much alike. He told me the same thing after he- his accident. He's fine, he's dealt with it, he didn't tell us because there was nothin' we coulda done." She stops, breathing hard, and suddenly, hiccups. "You said it was _three_ _years_ ago? What happened? He said he was involved in some pretty shady stuff back then. Did it have anything to do with that?"

He shrugs, says nothing. He lets his body language tell the lie. It's not really a lie, though. He _had_ thought that Lindsey was dead for a while back then, until he got the call from his stupid brother telling him otherwise. _Idiot_. The horror and emptiness he had felt for what had seemed like an eternity now flickers in his gut at the memory of it. He lets that show, feeling guilty for the half-truth.

Aimee scoots closer and leans into him, wanting to give him comfort, and seeking it at the same time. "Eliot, I'm sorry. I know how close you were."

"I don't wanna talk about it, Aimee." He doesn't. Say as little as possible, and the lie won't get caught.

"Okay," she nods, "Just one thing: Can you tell me where he is now? I think I wanna go see him an' pay my respects. He was like a brother to me, too, y'know? He was a good friend. Real good listener."

The request takes him by surprise. Lindsey's grave. There isn't one. Obviously. There could have been one, but it would have been too easy for people (or non-people, as the case may be) to dig the coffin up and discover that the corpse is missing.

"I cremated him and scattered his ashes," he says instead. "There's no grave. He wanted it that way."

He has never really asked (the thought of Lindsey dying is an idea which he never, _ever_ entertains), but if he thinks about it, it makes sense. That would be what he'd want. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. No body to desecrate through infection by a demon, or a spell, or any other magical unnaturalness. Lindsey would never want that. Ashes, then gone.

"Oh," Aimee says, slightly discomfited as the news truly gets to her. "I'll pray for him, then. If that's okay with you."

What does one say to that?

"He'd like that," he nods.

Aimee looks at him skeptically.

A dark chuckle breaks loose. "Alright, he'd make fun of ya for it, but he'd appreciate the thought anyway."

She sighs. "Yeah. I'll miss him."

Eliot pulls her closer and closes his eyes. He hates lying to her, but it's all to keep her safe, to keep Lindsey safe. He swallows. He had to. He had to lie.

"Come on," he says, and stands up to pull his jeans on. "We better get goin'. They'll be wonderin' where we got to."

Aimee gives an unladylike snort. "Somethin' tells me they know _exactly_ where we are and what we've been doin'."

"They need to keep their noses outta my business," he growls half under his breath, "They're all a buncha goddamn busybodies."

Aimee pauses in the middle of putting her shirt back on and gives him a knowing look. He returns it with his best scowling poker face, which makes her laugh softly and smile for some strange reason.

He buckles his belt with more force in his movements than strictly necessary. "What?"

"Nothin'. Nothin' at all."

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When the case is over, he calls Lindsey as soon as he's out of sight (and hearing) from the rest of the team.

"Don't go home ta Kentucky," he opens. "I told Aimee you're dead."

He can almost see his brother shrug. _"I figured."_

"Stalker," he spits out. Just 'cause.

"_I'm only keepin' an eye on ya,"_ Lindsey retorts indignantly. _"Returning the favor, so to speak."_

"Whatever, creep. I told her I cremated you and scattered the ashes," reports Eliot, dutiful big brother that he is. "No grave. She wanted to pray for yer gutter soul anyway."

"_Well, dead or not, I could use the prayers." _There's a _"Thanks, El"_ in there somewhere, but he doesn't say it. He doesn't need to.

Eliot snorts.

"_So...you an' Aimee...?"_

Nosy bastard. "Made up, had sex. Twice. Wanna hear about it?"

Eliot just knows what expression is on Lindsey's face right now. _"Gross! No! Gods, no! _Ewww. Never_ speak of that again. Please."_

Eliot cackles. Aw, Linny. It never fails. "Keep yer nose clean, Linds."

"_You, too, El. Later."_

"Yeah."

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References:

"This, we were good at. It's all the other stuff...not so much." - direct quote from _Supernatural_ episode "Route 666"

"It's a tell, looking women in the eye when you lie to them." - This was mentioned on Leverage in one of the earlier episodes, but I forgot which one, and I'm too lazy to look it up right now. Sophie said it, and Eliot agreed with a "Oh yeahhhh, definitely" sort of expression.

AN: What do you think? Is Lindsey a salt'n'burn kinda guy, or is he of the proper burial sort? I think Eliot's more of a burial guy, but he probably wouldn't be too picky if his body can't be recovered without risking a lot of lives or something like that...And this is the kind of thing I think about late at night all alone in my room. Creepy?


End file.
